


The Final Barrier

by Yatzstar



Series: The Mandalorian and His Child [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian Culture, Post-Canon, let's be honest those troopers hit green bean hard, like 3 hours post canon, still mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22055134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yatzstar/pseuds/Yatzstar
Summary: There is one last barrier between him and the Child that must be torn down.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: The Mandalorian and His Child [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565002
Comments: 41
Kudos: 1233
Collections: The Best Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda Whump Fics, The Best Parent Din Djarin Fics, The Best of the Best Mandalorian Fics





	The Final Barrier

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I just wanted to say thank you for all the comments on my other fics. I know I suck at replying but I do read each and every one and they mean a lot to me so thank you so much <3
> 
> Obviously this fic is set directly post-canon, unlike my other fic of this nature, so pretend like the other fic didn't happen lol

They had escaped Nevarro and the Imps, but now Din was faced with a new dilemma, thankfully less life-threatening but no less troubling.

They were a clan now, he and the Child. Though he was part of the covert, he had not been part of a “clan” since he had taken the Creed and left his caretakers. With clans and foundlings there came a relaxation on the strict rules; he was allowed to show his face to his foundling, to his Child, but years of isolation made him uncomfortable with the idea.

Though Mandalorians were a secluded people, especially after the Purge, Din had always been particularly isolated. Many in the covert had taken husbands or wives or taken in foundlings, but he had never felt compelled to do so. He was content with sponsoring the covert with his earnings and watching the children grow from afar. Intimate relationships were not for him, especially in his line of work.

Until…

Din turned to look at the Child. He still suckled on the necklace, and upon seeing the helmet turn towards him, he smiled.

Din sighed. It would not be good for the Child to be raised by a faceless man, that was not the Way. The mask was a barrier between him and the world, guarding him from forming relationships when they were a dangerous weakness.

But that was not the case anymore. The Child was his now; he was as his father, as sanctioned by the Armorer. It was only fitting that his foundling be afforded his caretaker’s best-kept secret. There was an intimacy in knowing a Mandalorian’s face that he found unparalleled by anything else he had experienced.

He remembered clearly the day his caretakers had revealed their faces to him. The Mandalorian who pulled him from the cellar had decided to take him as his own with his wife. Only a few days after he was rescued, they came to speak with him alone.

“Someone has to take care of you,” the man had said, kneeling in front of him.

Din had merely nodded, staring his reflection in the visor.

“Will you let us take care of you?” his wife had asked, kneeling as well.

Din had nodded again. They were kind; though the grief for his parents was still painfully fresh, they made it a little more bearable.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad_ ,” said the man.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad_ ,” repeated his wife.

They both lifted their helmets then, and Din remembered every detail of their faces even through the haze of time. The woman was beautiful like his mother, except she was pale and had golden hair. The man was dark and rugged, but no less kindly for it.

He had learned their names right after, a secret he kept sequestered in his heart.

The Child babbled, breaking Din from his memories. He looked at the kid, who stared back with the same deep intensity he always seemed to possess.

“Enjoying yourself?” Din asked.

The Child chirped something that sounded like an affirmation.

Satisfied, Din turned back to the console. He flew for a couple more hours, mulling over his dilemma until his fatigue became too much to ignore. It had been a long day, and though IG-11 had healed his head wound, there were still body wounds that he had yet to take care of.

He stood up, his body protesting mightily at the movement. The Child warbled at him, reaching out with eager hands. He bent to pick up the kid, but as soon as his hands made contact with the little one’s body, he let out a loud squawk.

Din recoiled , startled by the sound. He had never heard the kid make such a noise before. “What was that?”

The Child’s brow wrinkled, his mouth turning down into a frown. He brought his tiny arms down to where Din had tried to pick him up, curling them around his middle in a protective manner.

“Did I hurt you?” Din asked, worry twisting its sharp blade in his chest.

The Child’s frown smoothed slightly, and he looked up at the man expectantly. Confused and worried, Din reached down again, this time grasping the kid differently. He did not cry out, but Din did not miss the wince on the Child’s face when he picked him up, cradling him in his arms.

Din wondered if the Child had been injured without him knowing, and the notion sent him swiftly down to the lower deck. He deposited the kid gently on the cot and knelt to his level.

“Will you let me take a look at you?” he asked.

The Child just stared, his arms held protectively to his sides, and he figured that was the only answer he was going to get. Gently, he turned the Child so that his back was facing him and started to undo the clasps that kept his too-large tunic on.

The sight that greeted him was wholly unexpected and horrifying. Several large bruises marred the Child’s back and ribs, discoloring most of his small body.

“What happened?” he breathed, unable to keep the shock from his voice.

The only answer he received was a small whine.

He knew the kid was resilient. He had been thrown to the floor of the ship thanks to the pilot droid’s foolishness without much if any injury, so something or somebody must have hit him hard to cause such damage. Instinctively his mind went to the IG droid, but he was quick to dismiss it. The droid had proven himself in the end.

He reached out, gently touching the bruises, and the Child flinched away instantly with a cry.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, immediately feeling guilty at the sight of the Child’s face clenched in pain.

He rose, casting about for the bacta spray. He likely didn’t have enough for the both of them as he hadn’t stocked for two yet, but so long as the Child’s wounds were taken care of, his own hurts could wait.

When he found the spray, he brought it back to the Child, who watched his moves with his usual inquisitive gaze. Din knew from experience that the spray would hurt on bruises as deep as the ones the Child had, and though he was no stranger to pain, he knew the kid would likely not take the discomfort as stoically as he.

“I’m going to put this on your bruises,” he explained, kneeling next to the Child again. “It will probably hurt, but it will help you.”

The Child’s ears twitched. If he understood anything, he did not show it.

Din sighed and reached forward, looping one arm around the kid’s waist to keep him in place. As soon as he started spraying, the Child started struggling, which he expected, but he did not expect the long, thin wail that he set up, and the man had never heard a sound that had hurt his heart more.

“I’m doing this to help you,” he called over the kid’s cries.

The Child continued struggling, his constant movement making it hard for Din to apply the bacta.

“Be still!” he growled, the irritation of the Child’s struggling and the pain at hearing his cries making his words come out harsher than intended.

He must have hit a particularly tender spot, because the Child let out an ear-piercing shriek. Something hit him in the chest hard, akin to the mudhorn’s charge in strength, and the next thing Din knew, he was lying on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs.

Dazedly, he raised his head and saw the Child standing on the cot, his tunic falling off one tiny shoulder, staring down at him with something like a worried expression.

“Was…was that you?” he asked, sitting up slowly. Being thrown backwards had exasperated his own wounds, and even the slow movements made him wince.

The Child babbled something to him, his ears drooping and his face forlorn. He toddled forwards, making as if to climb down off the cot, but Din leaned forwards quickly, resting a gentle hand on the kid’s arm to stop him.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “You’ll just cause yourself more pain.”

For once the Child complied, stopping and standing straight again, though he still looked worried.

“It was an accident,” he assured the kid gently, gathering himself into a sitting position.

The kid chirped, his ears lifting slightly.

Din sighed, looking down at the spray canister still clasped tightly in his hand. He had to apply it to the rest of the kid’s wounds, but he didn’t know how well that would play out. He had to calm him down somehow, so he did the only thing he could think of. He started to talk.

“Look, kid, you and I are a clan now, just the two of us,” he said, knowing the kid likely wouldn’t understand him but continuing nonetheless. “Mandalorian clans always do what’s best for their members, even if it means doing something uncomfortable at first.”

The Child watched him, his deep gaze seeming to see past Din’s helmet and straight into his soul.

“I know this hurts,” he continued, raising the bacta spray, “but it will help you. I wouldn’t be doing my duty as…as a father if I didn’t think this would help you.”

He closed his eyes behind the helmet as the word _father_ slipped from his mouth. He had known it to be true when the Armorer had declared it, but it was solidified in his heart when he spoke the words himself.

“I also wouldn’t be doing my duty as a father if I didn’t share the secret known only to those closest to a Mandalorian.” Blood pounded in head, his heart racing with a sudden anxiety, but it was too late to turn back now. “You’re my foundling, and it would not be right for my secret to be withheld.”

The Child looked on, his ears lifting as if he understood the weight of what was about to happen.

Unable to keep a slight tremor from his hands, Din reached up and slowly pulled off his mask.

Silence.

The only noise was the hum of the ship and Din’s heavy breaths from the hit he had received moments before. They gazed at each other, his face bare for the Child to see for the first time. Something welled within him, a strange fear that was also joyous in a way. His last barrier between him and the Child was torn down, making the little one his irrevocably, and it was both terrifying and elating to him.

For what seemed like an eternity the Child stared, his expression oddly unreadable for one so young. It went on for so long that for one terrible moment Din found himself wondering if the kid hated the sight of his face.

But then something wonderful happened.

The Child’s face split into a smile the likes of which Din had never seen before. He had smiled as he played or pressed buttons, but never before had he displayed such joy. He waddled to the edge of the cot, stretching out stubby arms towards him, and Din was quick to move forward, gathering the Child to him as gently as possible.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, his voice coming out oddly strangled. “I’m Din Djarin.”

The Child babbled and reached for his face, his smile still as wide as could be. Din hesitated; nothing had touched his face in so long that he was almost afraid to allow it, but all hesitation was swiftly overridden by the pure joy of the Child.

He lowered his head, allowing the two impossibly tiny hands to caress his cheeks. They were soft and small, and he could easily forget the power that they contained. He let his eyes shut as the little fingers drifted over his cheeks, touching his stubble and the still-healing scabs from the battle only hours before. All anxiety he felt was replaced by affection, rushing through him in a rejuvenating surge.

The helmet was gone. There was nothing left to stop torrent of love he had tried to withhold for so long. Now he wondered why he had ever wrestled with the idea of revealing his face to the Child. The kid was his foundling, and he had known that for a long time, longer than he would admit, and now that nothing stood between them, he was at peace with that fact.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad,_ ” he murmured, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “ _Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad._ ”

They stayed that way for what seemed like a long time, father and son content in the finalized truth of their relationship.

Eventually, Din felt the Child’s forehead leave his. He opened eyes and saw the kid step backwards, turning to reveal his back and the bruises.

“Will you let me?” he asked.

The Child glanced over his shoulder and chirped in seeming affirmation.

“Clans take care of each other,” he said. “I promise I will take care of you.”

Slowly, cautiously, Din leaned forward, placing on hand on the Child’s arm to steady him. He started spraying the bacta again, but this time there was no struggling, no unseen pushes. The kid let out a pained whimper and twitched a little, but he let it happen.

“You did well, _ad’ika_ ,” Din said when he was satisfied all the bruises had been cared for, and redid the clasps on the Child’s tunic.

The Child turned to him with watery eyes and waddled forward with arms outstretched. He immediately took the kid in his arms, rocking him ever so slightly.

“In a few minutes you’ll feel like new,” he promised, wiping a stray tear from one little cheek.

The Child murmured, reaching up to touch Din’s face again, and he allowed it. The feeling was foreign but welcome; it felt good after the long years of nothing but his own hands and beskar.

As they sat, one of the Child’s feet accidentally touched a cut on his arm in the crook where the plates parted. Din winced at the sudden pain, and the Child cooed at him, his brow furrowing.

“It’s just a cut,” he assured the kid. “Nothing serious.”

The Child looked from him, to the discarded bottle of bacta spray, then back at him again, the question clear in his gaze.

“I used it all on you,” Din explained. “My wounds can wait. I’ll get some more next time we land.”

The kid paused, as if considering something, then he reached out to touch his face again. Din felt a surge of affection, but also something else. A strange feeling spread through his body, specifically to all the cuts and bruises that he had received. They tingled somewhat painfully, and as the Child’s eyes fell shut, he realized what was happening.

The small hand fell away, and Din flexed his arm experimentally, finding no pain in the action. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; he had watched the Child heal Karga, but for some reason he had never expected that the kid might do the same for him.

With a huff of surprise, he looked at the Child, who rewarded him with a drowsy smile.

“Clans look after each other,” he murmured, and never had he felt so content as in that moment. He stroked the Child’s— _his_ Child’s ears, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had done the right thing when he rescued his foundling what felt like a lifetime ago.


End file.
